


I'm Begging You, Don't Save Me

by soullessbrothers



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-23
Updated: 2013-08-23
Packaged: 2017-12-24 09:51:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/938544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soullessbrothers/pseuds/soullessbrothers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the angels fall, Cas finds Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Begging You, Don't Save Me

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean snapped his head up. He yanked his arm off the car door and jumped out of the driver’s seat. He left the door open. His chest burned. He swallowed.

“ _Cas_?”

Castiel was a mess. His trench coat was blackened with dirt. Grease matted the hair and beard to his skin, and his nails were encrusted with dirt. When Dean cautiously stepped towards him, he tensed as soon as he noticed that Cas was shaking.

“You son of a bitch.”

Cas fell.

 

***

 

“You think that’s what happened to him, too? He _Fell_?”

“I don’t know, Dean. Look. He’s here now, he’s back with us, and when he wakes up, we can figure out what happened. Until then? I don’t know.”

Sam shrugged and Dean growled. At least the bunker was covered in wards. Whatever had happened, Cas couldn’t get out without their say-so. They kept him in one of the many spare rooms and Dean tensed when he realised that it looked like a prison without the personal touches. He had even drawn a sigil on the outside of the door, just to keep Cas under extra locks. This time, he was going to get answers.

“I’ll take first watch,” Sam offered.

Dean sat in the chair and glared at the sleeping Cas. “Get out, Sam. I’ve got this.”

Sam patted Dean’s iron shoulder and retreated. He wasn’t about to start arguing, not when Dean had that look to him. It had only been a couple of weeks since the trial, since the angels fell, and Sam was still weak. He had stayed in the bunker while Dean picked up supplies, killed some monsters and practically nursed him. Faith in himself had been shaken, but his faith in Dean had never wavered. All he was worried about was that Dean barely had his four hours. He was starting to look tired.

 

***

 

“Dean?”

“I’m here, Cas.”

“You have bound me.”

Dean frowned. He pulled the chair forward so he was only a metre or so from Cas, watching as the angel, or ex-angel, whatever, struggled as he tried to move.

“I haven’t _bound_ you.”

“I am unable to move, Dean.”

“That’s because you’re goddamn hurt.”

“Metatron—”

“Don’t tell me. You and your best new angel pal had a party and none of the other angels were invited? What the hell, Cas!”

“You don’t understand.”

“You’re damn right I don’t understand. I saved Sam, by the way. On my own. Hell’s still open and I don’t care, I don’t _care,_ but you swore to me, you promised, and you weren’t _there._ ”

 “Dean—”

Dean stood and knocked the metal chair backwards so it clattered to the ground. Cas flinched.

“Sam could have _died_ , and you went upstairs to go play god, _again_ , and fuck it all up with all these goddamn angels. Five more minutes, Cas! I called for you, I _yelled_ for you, and you weren’t _there_!”

“Dean.”

Dean looked at him with disgust. Cas was still a goddamn baby and no matter what happened, he would always manage to break his toys. Civil war, the Leviathans and now Heaven’s helpers stuck on Earth. It’s all he kept doing. Cas messed up and the Winchesters rode in to clean it up. And Dean was tired. He was tired of Sam dying, tired of himself dying, tired of everyone else dying around him. He was so goddamn tired.

“I’m sorry, Dean. You… are correct. I am hurt.”

There was a heavy pause. Dean took a deep breath and picked the chair back up. He moved it closer so that he sat right at the edge of the bed. From that position, he pulled back the covers that surrounded Cas and manipulated him to remove the trench coat. When he and Sam had carried him between them from the Impala, they had just dropped him as he was on the bed. Now Dean regretted that decision.

“You’ve gotta get cleaned up.”

“I don’t—”

“You smell like ass, and I’m not having that here. Rise and shine and time to move.”

“I am already awake.”

Dean rolled his eyes and grabbed one of Cas’ arms. He ignored the pained groan and yanked Cas to his feet, letting him lean into his side.

The walk to the nearest bathroom was long. Every step made Cas weaker. If Dean was smarter, he would have called Sam to help, but a cruel part of him was glad that he could hear the breath in Cas’ throat hitch when he moved his legs. To keep him steady, Dean angled him towards the wall and they slid the last few metres.

When they were inside, Dean grimaced. He had planned on shoving Cas towards the shower, but there was no way that he could support his own weight in there.

“Bath it is.”

“Bath?”

“Like a swimming pool, but no swimming.”

Cas sighed as Dean left him to perch on the edge of the bath. The taps had barely been turned up before Cas started to sway, but Dean caught him before he toppled backwards into the tub.

“Hold it together. _Come on_.”

Dean tested the water when it was ready. Hot enough to warm, but cool enough not to redden hands. The next part was going to be tricky. Cas couldn’t go in there with his clothes on, and they looked like they were welded to his skin. Dean could have said something, but he didn’t. He started to peel away the layers, his nose wrinkling more and more as the smell of thick sweat and grime scratched the air. Even the tie had hardened in certain sections.

“I swear to god, Cas, I’m gonna salt and burn these.”

Cas groaned. “Fabrics do not have souls, Dean.”

“These do. And they’re pissed.”

It was like undressing a rag doll. Dean shifted his position over and over again, and Cas moved to his whim. When he was naked, it took all of Dean’s strength to lower him into the bath. Cas hissed.

“You’re being a baby.”

“The water stings.”

“ _I’ll_ sting if you don’t shut up.”

Cas slid further into the tub. He was more cut up than Dean had realised. Dean tried to remember how this worked back when he had to bath Sam. He knelt at the side of the bath and avoided the bright blue eyes that followed every movement. Only Cas’ neck was free from pain, apparently.

It made more sense to do the most awkward part first. Dean cupped his hands in the water and carefully let the pools fall into Cas’ hair. When it was all wet, he lathered in shampoo and ignored a much more relaxed sigh. He frowned in concentration. His fingers rolled into his scalp, but made sure not to forget the little points of hair in front of his ears. As soon as brown was covered in off-white, Dean stopped. Again, he cupped his hands. Cas learned that sometimes the water would end up forcing the bubbles down his face, and when he winced, Dean rinsed soapy fingers and wiped his eyes clean.

Hair done, Dean stood and retrieved foam and a razor. It was another drawn-out process, drawn out further by their thick silence. For some reason, Dean told himself that it was important not to let the hair float in the bath, so he had toilet paper on hand. Every stroke was followed by damp paper wiping away the hair, which was then dropped to one side of the bath. Dean used the bath water to rinse Cas’ cheeks and chin when he was finished. He never broke concentration.

It was time for his body. From the neck up, Cas looked like Cas again, uncertain in human ritual, puzzled and trusting of Dean. Below that imaginary line, he could have been any broken man. Dean hesitated for a moment, but as soon as he heard Cas use his name again, he picked up the sponge, soaped it, then went to work. Every stroke was far too hard. He dragged the sponge down Cas’ arms first. Then he glared at his chest when he scraped through layers of dirt.

“You fucked up, Cas.”

“Metatron, he lied, Dean. He used me.”

Dean’s hand stopped. He even allowed himself to look in Cas’ eyes.

“I wanted to fix it. Fix everything. I’m sorry, Dean.”

“Yeah, you’re always sorry.”

Cas looked off at the tiles to avoid Dean’s disappointment, but the sponge changed so it was a little lighter to the touch.

“You should’ve trusted my gut, Cas.”

“I couldn’t hear it.”

“You should’ve trusted _me_.”

“Yes.”

Dean stopped. “What?”

“I wanted to fix it so badly. I should have waited with you.”

“Too little too late, princess.”

“I am not a princess, Dean.”

Cas’ eyes were red, but not thanks to the shampoo. He shook his head and Dean narrowed his eyes.

“There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“Dean—”

“Spit it out.”

“Metatron took my Grace.”

Dean tensed. That hurt more than he imagined anything could hurt, thanks to that son of a bitch. He searched Cas’ face and found the hurt mirrored, doubled.

“So, he what, he clipped your wings? Stuck you on the fast train to mortal city?”

“ _Yes_.”

“That sucks.”

Dean relented and let his strokes melt into Cas’ chest and stomach. The misery in his old friend’s eyes was enough to twist his stomach. He saw Sammy again, outside of that abandoned church, telling him how broken and useless he felt. No matter what Cas did, he tried to make it better. He felt guilt. He needed to mend those fences and he did all that he could to make the world a better place. All he needed was a guide. All Dean needed was a reason to live.

It was Cas’ leg next. Dean started at the knee and worked down. When he reached his foot, he started again at the other knee.

“You listen to me, Cas. Sam needs you, _I_ need you, and I’m tired of you and your goddamn disappearing act. We’re supposed to be a family.”

“I know.”

Dean looked up at Cas, and that was when he noticed the nick of red on his chin. Dean had cut him, and he hadn’t flinched, he hadn’t complained. He just took it. He took more hurt because it was Dean that gave it to him. And it was too much, it was far too much. Dean didn’t realise that his eyes filled when he stretched up to wipe at the blood, but it kept rising back to the surface. Cas lay and took each touch, grateful to not be alone.

“God _damnit_!”

Each wipe made it worse. The water diluted the blood so that it streaked across Cas’ chin and Dean begged silently for it to stop, for it to just fucking stop right now, but it kept going, kept bleeding. All he could do was to make his thumb scrape harder and harder against it until Cas finally winced and he was forced to lift his arm and grab Dean’s wrist. Dean blinked, a man thrown from hypnotism and one of his tears betrayed him.

“I never meant to hurt you, Dean.”

“Don’t you _dare_.”

Cas reached two fingers forward, as if to try and erase whatever hurt had gripped Dean’s mind, but it was no use. That power had gone. Impotent, the hand fell to Dean’s shoulder instead.

“Dean?”

“ _What_.”

“The water is cold, Dean.”

So it was. Dean forced himself to his feet and half-carried Cas out of the water, into a towel, and back to the soulless bedroom. The distraction was enough for him to swallow back his emotion, so he focussed on towelling Cas dry. Cas sat and let him. When his body was finished, Dean brought the towel to his head, and he massaged his hair. When he had ended up on his knees between Cas’ legs, he didn’t know. He leaned up to ruffle that hair and he kept doing it until the towel would hold no more water. Cas’ hair was still damp, and Dean was a failure.

“I prayed to you, Cas.”

“I couldn’t hear you.”

“I _prayed_.”

Cas’ hands ended up back on Dean’s shoulders. He relied on the last comfort he possessed. His head bowed forward and he placed a kiss on Dean’s forehead. His hands lifted from those heavy shoulders and cupped Dean’s face, kissing the spot with a little more force.

“I walked until I found you.”

Dean looked up to the ceiling, that last fight against his barrier, but it wasn’t enough. The pressure, the pain, the years had taken their toll. He choked. All he wanted was a snappy comeback and a way to tell Cas to back off, but he couldn’t. He let his head droop and that kissed forehead came to rest on Cas’ knee. Despite the aches, Cas sat up by himself and rested his hand of the back of Dean’s head. His fingers rolled back and forth, reminiscent of Dean’s fingers soaping Cas’ crown.

When Dean cried, he didn’t sob. He buckled. His ribs pulsed, but he was silent. He gasped for breaths, but even when he was small, he had to hide his tears from Sam. He was an expert, and Cas saw through him.

“Cas, I, I can’t, I—”

“I want to help.”

Dean pushed against Cas’ knees to try and stand, and Cas tried to kiss his forehead for more ointment, so they crashed together and lip brushed lip until Dean froze in place. He pulled his head back, startled and wary, but Cas only saw that those tears had stopped. With Dean still, Cas moved in again so their mouths met. Cas held the sides of Dean’s jaw and held him. The frozen lips didn’t stop him. More insistent, Cas pressed forward and forward until the ice melted and Dean allowed himself a slip, one tiny slip, so his mouth opened. Tongue met tongue. Dean growled in warning, but the redness in his eyes was disappearing, so Cas smiled sadly into their first embrace.

When Dean finally had the presence of mind to pull away, he glared.

“What the fuck, Cas?!”

Cas didn’t reply. He managed to yank himself up to his feet and placed his hand over the handprint scar he had left on Dean. He could feel the muscles tighten under his grasp, but he didn’t pull away. Some of his old strength must have returned, because he managed to stand in front of Dean, still naked, squinting at him with grim determination.

“I have to fix you.”

Dean looked so confused, like the words didn’t make sense. He slowly shook his head, but before he could even begin to think, Cas’ mouth was against him. He wished he didn’t want it, some comfort, a touch that wasn’t brotherly and from Sam, from someone that he could call his own. Lisa was on loan. The other women were methadone fixes for a heroin need. This, this was different. Before he knew it, Cas had turned them around so the backs of Dean’s legs touched mattress. The buttons to his shirt were methodically undone, and when his jeans dropped to the ground, Dean reddened as half of an erection became visible through his boxer shorts.

“Cas—”

“Dean. Please.”

Cas silenced him with more kisses, soft and full of new promises, promises he was sure to keep. When Dean finally allowed himself to rest his palm against Cas’ chest, Cas leaned him back until Dean was lying on the bed. Cas broke the kiss to lie beside him, rested on his elbow with one hand free. That hand. He murmured _I’m sorry Dean_ and _I can help, Dean_ over and over into his ear as that hand stroked over every inch of skin, like fingertips were substitutes for more kisses. As soon as his skin was mapped, the last inches were found underneath Dean’s waistband. Cas lightly thumbed over Dean’s balls, relieved at the low moan he forced from Dean’s mouth, and he shifted position again to grasp him.

A touch was all that he needed. Dean stiffened, and with every rock of Cas’ wrist, he grunted. His eyes closed tightly and he refused to think. He didn’t see how Cas furrowed his eyebrows and measured his pace according to how quickly Dean rolled his hips, or the pitch of Dean’s moans. Cas thumbed over his engorged tip because he was curious, but the gasp encouraged him to do it again, until he recognised the sensitive underside of the head. He even squeezed his shaft gently, and soon Dean forgot himself entirely, fucked himself upwards and bucked into the welcoming palm.

The orgasm came with a badly stifled grunt. Cas kept his hand pumping and Dean shuddered, panted and barked a laugh.

“You’ve gotta st-stop, Cas, you’ll wear it out and I _need_ it!”

“I need _you_ , Dean.”

The laugh died on Dean’s lips and he swallowed at Cas’ expression. The intensity behind it was overwhelming, and only after he came did Dean realise exactly how hard he was, and how it pressed into the top of his thigh. It was bizarre, but Cas suddenly looked troubled.

“I also need lubrication.”

“You need—? Whoa, Cas, buddy, I don’t know if—”

But he was already standing and forcing himself through his own pain to the bathroom and back again. Cas was visibly relieved when he could lie on the bed again, just as hard as before or possibly harder, holding a bottle of body lotion. It had to be Sam’s.

“You’re not serious.”

“I’m very serious.”

Cas squirted enough lotion to cover two of his fingers and the concentration from his frown was overwhelming.

“Where the hell did you learn that?”

“I believe the babysitter was insistent.”

“What? What babysitter?”

“You said we shouldn’t talk about it.”

It surprised Dean when he found that Cas pulled off his boxers, and when he allowed his legs to be parted, and he was even more surprised when he felt Cas tease his finger around his entrance. He couldn’t stop a groan, but he tensed up anyway.

“You have to relax.”

“When an angel’s about to finger-fuck me? Pass.”

“I’m not an angel any more, Dean.”

Cas twisted his finger slowly and pressed the tip inside him. It wasn’t long before Cas worked his whole finger in, Dean groaning as he felt his knuckle curl. The next time he tensed, he cursed himself because all he wanted was more, more and further inside him. Cas added the second finger, slicked inside him, curled and uncurled until he found the spot that made Dean jolt. Cas nodded to himself at the new information and shifted to massage the spot harder, press his fingers against it. Soon enough, Dean was stiff again, come still covering him.

The hand withdrew and the bruised Cas lay between Dean’s legs as soon as extra lube had been added to his cock. Every movement was carefully measured. He held himself to find Dean’s opening, but he was forced to carry Dean’s legs over his shoulders to press into place. Thanks to his handiwork, it was easy to push his tip inside him. It was definitely worth it when Dean rolled his head back and his groan was strangled.

Cas was unsure why Dean didn’t move, save for clenched fists in the bedsheets and the panted breath desperate to escape his chest. That didn’t stop him. His own palms pushed down onto the mattress to keep himself upright, careful to slowly rock inside him. He turned his head to kiss the inside of Dean’s thigh because he couldn’t reach his forehead, like he was supposed to. He rolled as slowly as he could manage. He slid in, then out so only his tip remained inside.

“Y-you son of a…”

But the words fell from Dean’s tongue and Cas smiled sadly. He managed to fill Dean to the hilt and felt himself twitch inside him. If he was stronger, he could resist the temptation, but a guttural moan made him start to shake.

“I need you too, Dean.”

Dean suddenly looked down at him and pursed his lips. The fists let go of the sheet and he let himself reach for Cas’ shoulders this time, nodding slightly to encourage him. They were coated in sweat. It was enough. Cas couldn’t just comfort. He memorised where that spot was and grunted as he moved again, all to shove the weight of his cock against it. Then again. Harder. Harder. Hard enough for Dean to cry out and come all over again and fuck, Dean didn’t want it that fast, _fuck_ how sensitive he was after Cas’ hand, and he hated that, he was angry again, forced himself to be angry, and he dug his nails into Cas’ skin until he saw a harsher narrow to Cas’ eyes, and that soon translated into a rougher fuck, a deeper fuck, all until Cas couldn’t hold on to those human sensations and feelings and his cock matched that ache in his chest and when he finally came, when he finally felt that electricity, for one brief moment he was terrified that he would burn with light, just burn with it until Dean was burning too, and when he filled him, he trembled above him and watched so carefully to make sure that Dean was safe, _Dean must always be safe_ , and finally allowed himself to slide out and collapse across Dean’s stomach, pinning them both to the wet spot.

Neither of them dared to move. When they moved, that meant that it was over. When they sat up, they would have to speak. When they put on new clothes, they would have to see what they had done in each other’s eyes, and while Cas would want to, Dean wasn’t sure. The questions, conversations and feelings already concreted Dean’s stomach, the unspoken answers even more so, and he found that his eyes began to sting again. Cas watched, concerned, but the sting in Dean’s eyes dropped straight to his heart.

“Dean. I failed you.”

“What? Cas, no. Don’t. Not now.”

He shook his head and laid himself down beside Dean, clenched jaw oh-so-earnest.

“You’re disappointed.”

“You didn’t— I’m not.”

“You’re crying.”

“Jesus, Cas, I’m not crying.”

“Your eyes are wet. I don’t understand.”

“You’re… I know you, Cas. You’re going to fuck up and leave. Maybe go crazy again. Hell if I know.”

Cas frowned. “I always come when you call.”

“You said yourself that you can’t hear me now.”

“So I’ll stay here.”

“And why would you want to do that, when all your angel-buddies are freaking out on the road?”

“I understand now, Dean.”

“Oh? You do, huh?”

Cas paused and Dean readied himself for another excuse to go. Instead, he reached for Dean’s hand and let their fingers entwine.

“This is where I belong.”

 

***

 

Sam had overslept and he felt a fresh pang of guilt. Dean was stuck with Cas, and Sam pictured him slumped forward in the chair, waiting for an excuse to pounce with his normal, angry questioning. It didn’t matter that Sam had tried to tell him that whatever happened, Cas would have only wanted to help. Dean had made up his mind as soon as Cas didn’t appear on cue. At that thought, Sam found himself outside the spare room. Just in case Cas was still passed out, Sam didn’t bother to knock. He didn’t want to jolt him awake. Dean would use it as an excuse to stay and interrogate him, and Sam refused to be the reason for his brother to keep neglecting himself.

“Dean?”

He was surprised that there was no answer, even though he had whispered. The chair was empty. Sam opened the door further and stepped inside. His eyes widened. On top of ruined covers, there was a naked Cas, clean and shaved, but still battered. At his side, an equally nude Dean had his head on Cas’ chest. Their hands were locked together over Cas’ stomach. Even in sleep, they were terrified to let each other go.

When the door was shut behind him, Sam smiled.


End file.
